Page 46 of Kept

“Maybe he has migraines.” Rachelle shrugged, the topic already sliding out of her mind. “Hey, your mom is really nice. We should have dinner more often! You guys wanna come to my place? My chef makes a killer pork adobo.”

I glanced at her sidelong as we walked. She had a chef. In her apartment.

Go figure.

“Tell her to wear a blue wig next time, we can be twins!”

I made a vague promise to bring my mom over, wondering if I was making a mistake by allowing them to bond. If I wasn’t careful, I’d end up with the two of them making Victoria’s Slut-cret statues in our living room and papier-mâché-ing them with romance book pages.

I was distracted all through the afternoon classes, made even worse when I cut through the Hall of Art and saw Professor Spears’ back to me. A pretty student with blonde hair was talking, beaming up at him. He had his arms crossed over his chest in that distant way of his and the door was wide open, but that didn’t stop a ball of ice from forming in my stomach.

Because one day, that pretty blonde girl was going to walk out of Bourdillon University as the cream of the crop. Either her, or a girl just like her, would be the one who would get to talk to one of the Three Demons like they were actual prospects, not just fuck-friends.

Hell, I didn’t even havethat. I was there because I’d screwed up and they had one over my head. Nothing friendly about it.

I exhaled and pushed my way into the library, ignoring the sickness churning in my gut. I told myself it didn’t matter, but no matter how many times I told myself that, the lie grew weaker and weaker.

It did matter, and I finally realized what I wanted: to be on that equal playing field. Even if nothing ever came of it, at least I would know I was there because I’d earned it.

I sorted through the old card catalogue with a renewed sense of purpose, crossing off every weeded book with a fat black slash of permanent marker. Iwasgoing to go to that art gala, and I’d interview one of the top artists there. The featurette on Rachelle would be my toehold into the Bourdillon student magazine, but I wanted something big for the next article I submitted.

If I kept writing, I’d find something that would spark my fire again. I hadn’t realized how much life had beaten me down and how much I’d missed it until it was gone. If I played my cards right and kept it up, I might be able to end up on the magazine staff by the end of the year.

I’d walk out with a Bourdillon degree and journalistic experience. I’d be able to walk out into the world, maybe not on the same playing field, but definitely on the sidelines with a way in. I wouldn’t be part of the nameless, faceless audience again.

I ripped through the card catalogue in record time, driven by the newfound energy of an Actual Life Plan. I barely noticed when Mrs. Clarke left, waving over my shoulder as I dragged a ladder over to the Histology shelves. There were several books that’d been requested by the Biology department, and it involved climbing fifteen feet to get them down.

Full night had descended by the time I’d packed up the textbooks for delivery, straightened the tables and chairs, and checked in another delivery. I finally swept a hand through my hair, yanking it back in a ponytail and pulling my bag over my shoulder.

Nobody was in the halls when I left and locked the door behind me. I stepped out into balmy night air, taking a deep breath to clear my head.

One thing I knew for sure: I wanted to be the Pet because Iwantedit. Even without the pictures that condemned me, I wanted them all. They stoked the fire that burned inside me, the desire to be more than what I was.

Once I worked up the nerve, I’d ask them to destroy the evidence. I would remain theirs for the rest of the school year, or however much time I had with them.

And if they did respect me, the way I thought they might, maybe they’d actually do it. The thought made my shoulders tense, but I’d gotten away with far more backtalk than I’d have believed possible on that first fateful day.

If they wanted me to stand up for myself so badly, maybe they were waiting for me to ask. It could all be a test to see just how downtrodden and mousy I’d remain, or if I’d pull myself together and demand fair treatment in this.

Tomorrow was the day.

I set out across the lawn. The parking lot was nearly empty, and I ducked past Rhett’s car. I wasn’t going to go find him, not while I was steeling myself to make my request. I needed just one more night to be cowardly before I brought my foot down.

The trees welcomed me with wide-open arms. My feet crunched over dry leaves, and I left the lights of Bourdillon behind for darkness.

I’d walked so far that Bourdillon was almost invisible when I heard a crunch that wasn’t me. I froze in place, my ears perked up for any sound out of the ordinary, and laughed under my breath when I heard nothing. There were miles of wilderness. It was probably just a deer or a fox.

But a prickle ran over my skin. It was the kind of innate response every mammal had built into their system: the sudden, total knowledge that unfriendly eyes were on them.

I held my breath, my heart thumping in my ears, and I turned my head back towards the school. The parking lot lights were just visible through the trees.

A dark shape, wider and much shorter than the trees, moved to the side.

My limbs felt watery as I dug in my bag for my house key, taking several shaky steps deeper into the forest. I was absolutely sure that shape was not a deer, but a human man. And that brought an unpleasant memory to mind: Rhett and Gabriel, talking about a woman who’d been attacked in this area only a year ago.

Hunted down. Her house broken into.

I should’ve waited for Rhett.

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